I Love Acid

So we're chillen downstairs, smokin a bowl, and I just starting springin to Jungle when a guy I know asks me if I want anything. “No thanks, I’m not rollin tonight. Were just gonna smoke bowls, ya know...” “I’ve got acid, K, ...” “Wait, what? What? You’ve got Sid?” I go from being annoyed at the offer to exited. This is my first chance to drop L in almost exactly a year, an I have literally been fantasizing about it lately. On the other hand, I am scared because I don’t know what it’s like anymore, its been so long. So I turn to Bill, and say “Yo, fool, my boy over here has L, are we gonna fry tonight? I mean, are you down?” “I guess.” says Bill. “OK, well take two hits each” (including Steph, that came to a total of 6 hits, which I managed to negotiate down to $25, a $5 savings.) We are all nervous, but we are trying to be cool. The guy gives Bill his two hits, and reaches over to puts the other four in Steph’s shirt pocket. I give him the money, and he is gone. “OK, Steph, bust out the L.” I say, anxiously waiting for Steph to pull the hits from her pocket. Instead I get a “I don’t have it.” from Steph.

“But Steph, he just put them in your pocket. I saw him do it.” I calmly add. Steph starts to check all of her pockets, not knowing at all where to start. “Babe, he put them in your shirt pocket.” She pulls out a tiny little bit of white lint and holds it in the palm of her hand, for all to see.

We slowly, carefully start to look at each other, trying to find the little bits of paper that may be stuck to her clothes, may be on the floor, or may still be in the dealer's pocket. So, here we are $20 later: Bill has already taken his two hits while we don't even know where ours are. We look for the confetti shaped drug at least ten more minutes before giving up, but no need to panic. “Hey Steph, lets go smoke a cigarette, Okay? “ “Okay”

We swim through a thick mass of hot and sweaty bodies until we finally get into the even more crowded outdoor smoking area. I find a seat for Steph and say, “Now, Steph, you’re a smart girl, why don’t you tell me what happened to the sid. I saw that guy put it in your pocket.” And then, for the first time, I realized that Steph doesn’t have a clue. The girl is kayed out of her mind. “Babe, the sid is in your pocket, I’m sure of it. Why don’t you check carefully?”

“I can’t, it’s too dark.”

“Hang on” I turn to find somebody with those little L.E.D. light thingies, and sure enough somebody is walking right by me, a rolled cande raver... “Hey, can I use your lights for a minute?” “Aww,,uhhh,, no-I gotta go to the bathroom real bad.” “Oh, Cum On, man! plur it out dude, plur!!” “Aww,,OK.” I light up Steph’s shirt pocket, and moments later, she finds the first slightly oversquare green rectangle. She plants the paper near the middle of my Cherry Jolly Rancher. She finds the next one and eats it. As she finds the third “green frog” brand LSD I gesture for her to hit my lollipop on the B-side-which she does. Then she finds the last one, and eats it. I eat mine, victoriously chewing the paper bits with my front teeth and the mission is accomplished. As she swallows the dose, she says “Mmmm, that is real acid” recognizing the metallic chemical taste and tingle as it goes down her throat.

A smile stretches across my face as I realize what I have just done. I have taken two hits of acid, the king of all drugs. There wont be any "oh wait, it's going away, I need more, bullshit" tonight. Two hits of decent acid is a 100% guaranteed 8 hour excellent adventure, I know this for a fact. Just then the jungle MC that lives in my head lets out a big loud “Can I get a Deep Fry??? I say, kenah getta muthafukin deep fry inside!” On one hand I was a little nervous, since acid is supposed to be the big bad wolf, but on the other hand, I remember once telling myself that I should absolutely never worry about being able hang on two hits.

Over the next four hours, in no particular order, I did the following:

Asked girls to model orange juice for the camera
Look at Steph in a new light, as a person I have seen change over the years.
Have rude thoughts about complete strangers (What the fuck, does she think that Cande is a fashion?)

Watch the party kids in the happycore room endlessly bounce at 175 bpm (Those kids are just fuckin crazy! On one hand, the dancing was kinda simple -read boring- on the other hand, I can’t do that for 3 hours)

Pack tooth decay promoting Jolly Rancher lollipops into the space between my teeth-(one of the rarely talked about dangers of raving)

Say things that were so ridiculous and off the wall that people around me could not help but crack up (whether I was a clever and witty or a fry-tarded idiot would probably depend on your frame of reference)

Smoke and share a nearly full pack of Parliament menthols -admiring the hologram on the box more than once.

Say exactly what I was thinking to the perfect brunette wearing just a black bra, matching black underwear, and raver pants that somehow managed to hang on to her hips. Specifically, “That’s Dope.”

Think about my family, and our dog.

Listen to Jungle downstairs, which was not as unintelligible as the last time I heard it frying. Maybe this Sid was not as strong, or maybe I have listened to so much Jungle since then, that the mystery is gone.

And only God knows what else. When I fry, I turn into my acid super self, who I am deep down inside. I’m free of inhibition, and completely comfortable about it. The things I like, I love. The things I don’t like, no matter how small or how trivial the reasons why, I cynically hate. I have lots of energy, and never get tired. I consume everything as it happens, turning a common moment into a universe in and of itself that centers on that one simple event. I like who I am more than when I an on E, although others may disagree. When I roll, emotions emerge that make me weak. I feel sympathy, jealousy, loneliness, attraction, affection and closeness. (The feeling that lead to hurt feelings.) When I fry, I feel confident, arrogant, superior, perfect, and attractive. It’s easy to act that way, and it’s a safe attitude to have. I don’t care if people like me, I hardly care what they think at all.

When I saw Bill at five, the first two hits were just starting to taper off. Fortunately, he had come across some free hits and saved an extra one for me. Just what I needed to get me through work, which was to start at ten. It was the easiest decision I had ever made in my life. Confirmation came from the MC that lives in my head, who yelled at the top of his lungs in an impossibly ripped up and bassy voice,

“Bring it back, bring it back, bring it back one time. I need to know, can we get a REFRY?’


(Then I met Chelsea)